


I'm Not Ok

by claremontpsych



Series: kids in the night! [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Psychological Trauma, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claremontpsych/pseuds/claremontpsych
Summary: Saying Malcolm is “not okay” is to be generous towards the millions of things constantly wrestling each other inside his mind, and very few people genuinely took the time to sit down and discuss said things with him. Most of these people through time were paid for the activity, but when not visiting his psychologist, an open ear can be found within his long time father figure, Gil-- coincidentally his boss-- or within his partner, Dani, but even she sometimes can’t deal with his shit. He is seriously a lot to handle.OR, a Brightwell one shot inspired by "I'm Not Ok" by Weathers
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Dani Powell, Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Series: kids in the night! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687321
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	I'm Not Ok

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first installment of ten (!) Brightwell one shots inspired by the album Kids In The Night by Weathers. They'll be posted in album order, and this is track one. This idea is nabbed from my dear friend @calswrites, though, so go check out her Lewis Capaldi version of this idea haha.

Malcolm Bright was a man known for being many things. Impulsive, intelligent, insane, illogical, the list goes on. He was wise beyond his years, sarcastic and dry, witty but with a flare for the macabre. He was also the man (then ten-year-old boy) who turned his own father, famed cardiothoracic surgeon Dr. Martin Whitly, in to the police for the murder of at least twenty-three people. That kind of thing gives you lasting trauma, to say the least. To say the most would be to refer you to Malcolm’s medicine cabinet, as well as the five pill bottles which line the tail end of his kitchen counters. Benzodiazepines, mostly-- Xanax and all the other big names in the business. You name it, he’s tried it. He’s kept on a consistent psych watch, too, considering he’s a bit of a flight risk. Oh, and he has a pet parakeet, her name is Sunshine. He is also a master of yoga, a connoisseur of daily affirmations (those which remind him that he is more than his past, mostly), and a chronic and crippling insomniac. Night terrors will do that to you. 

Saying Malcolm is “not okay” is to be generous towards the millions of things constantly wrestling each other inside his mind, and very few people genuinely took the time to sit down and discuss said things with him. Most of these people through time were paid for the activity, but when not visiting his psychologist, an open ear can be found within his long time father figure, Gil-- coincidentally his boss-- or within his partner, Dani, but even she sometimes can’t deal with his shit. He is seriously a lot to handle. Dani tries to understand him, though, and in return he tries his very hardest to not profile her. He struggles to turn off the side of his mind that focuses on micro-expressions and aggressions, the side of his mind that makes him an astute member of the NYPD Major Crimes Unit. He is simply the best at what he does. A Harvard graduate in psychology and a well-researched serial killer buff, if you will, he profiles everyone and everything. 

Dani hates that. She’s tough as nails, but she allows Malcolm to know about her in small portions. She serves him little information, things she finds herself inclined to share with him. He knows that her dad passed away when she was sixteen, that she struggled with drug addiction (and consequently, overdose) whilst she was working undercover in the Narcotics Unit, and he knows that she’s a Bronx girl with a low bullshit tolerance. She herself isn’t the most okay of them all, but she looks like a shining star by comparison to Malcolm’s ever-hurtling-through-space comet of a mental state. They meet in the middle, somehow, finding the right frequency between her anxieties and his own. That’s why Gil made them partners. 

Partners is an understatement of the relationship they’ve built, though. Dani drives Malcolm home a little too often as a result of his doing something a little too reckless, and they’ve nearly kissed on more occasions than one. They also fight like cats and dogs, often as a result of Malcolm’s overstepping a boundary and then promising to do better. They’re an odd pair, for sure. They’ve agreed to keep their relationship professional and nothing more, for the sake of those around them at the precinct, as well as for both of their wellbeings, but they’re both guilty of lingering glances, touching hands under the table in the conference room, making tea just the way the other likes it “in case you wanted one, too,” and the list goes on. Not only do they meet on a certain frequency of anxieties, but of romantics, too. They’re both hopeless at the cause, sure, but the harmless flirting is always a nice bonus.

It's actually that flirting that brings Dani to Manhattan on this night. They solved their case in record time and were all able to take a day off before returning to the precinct for paperwork, but she wanted to see him. She knew off days were never Malcolm’s speed, and she reasoned with herself that she was just checking up on him, like a good partner would. Something within her tells her that she misses his warm hand on her side any time he passes behind her, or his useless facts that he spits for fun. She misses him, his presence. She lets herself into Malcolm’s apartment, knowing where he keeps a spare key (under the doormat, centered beneath the letter “O” in Welcome), and she finds him staring off, mumbling to himself as per usual. A hallucination. 

She’s cautious not to scare him too badly when she shuts his door and announces her presence.

“Bright, hey,” she says softly, just loud enough for him to hear. He snaps out of whatever dreamlike state he was in, shaking his head and turning towards where she stood.

“Oh, hey. I wasn’t expecting you,” he smiles, shaking his head again to remove any lingering thoughts. “Can I get you anything? Tea, water, food? I promise you I’ve been grocery shopping since you last checked my fridge.” 

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks. I just came over to see how you’re doing…. I know off days really aren’t your thing so I wanted to make sure you’re doing alright”

“Well, I talk to myself, clearly, and I can’t tell you if I’ve eaten anything beyond licorice in the past twenty-four hours, give or take, so you might be right,” He chuckles at his own attempt at humor. “I think, just maybe, I need help”

“Yeah, no kidding. You want me to make you some food? That grilled cheese offer from that one time I accidentally got you drugged up is still good.”

“That, actually, would be kind of nice,” he shrugs, joining her in his kitchen so that he, too, can feel useful. 

They make two sandwiches, tea, and Dani grabs herself a handful of chips before they congregate in Malcolm’s living room. As with every time she’s here, she admires the massive paintings across his walls. And, of course, his collection of broad bladed weaponry. A strange man, that Malcolm Bright.

They talk over their meals, and the conversation turns suggestive almost instantly. Flirting lacing itself between quips about case facts or what movies they both enjoy. Malcolm’s mood drops as quickly as Dani had been able to raise it, clearly mulling over a thought.

“Bright? What is it?” She asks.

“Dani I-I…. I have too many issues. I wouldn’t blame you if you got up and walked out my door now and told Gil to tell me to find a new job. I scare myself. I talk to hallucinations of me, aged ten, half dead. I’m so, so far from okay and as much as I just want to be with you, both romantically and not, I understand if you also want to run far away from here once shit hits the fan,” He isn’t usually one for such a casual turn of phrase, so she can easily tell he’s been sitting on this thought for some time. She thinks long and hard for a good way to answer him, one that doesn’t sound like pity, or one that isn’t too insensitive, or one that isn’t too platonic for his offhanded admissions of genuine romantic intention. She finds herself at a rare loss for words. 

So instead, she leans forward, resting a hand on his cheek, and places a very soft kiss on his lips. One that lasts barely a half of a second, but it was one all the same.

“So what?” She offers him. “Bright I’m far from okay too, you’ve gotta realize that we all are. I’m not judging you so long as you’re not judging me. Sure, you can be a handful at times, but I have two hands.”

“...Okay. Sure,” He nods, convincing himself too.

She just smiles and kisses him again, hoping to leave the “what comes next”s for later.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave Kudos and comments! They mean the world :)
> 
> I'm also on tumblr as claremontpsych, just like on here! Let's talk about Brightwell!


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